


with a heart full of mess and lore (we are doomed but we wanted more)

by bellairestrella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hermionebigbang, Dark!Harry, F/M, melodramatic angst, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-19
Updated: 2009-09-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellairestrella/pseuds/bellairestrella
Summary: Thinking of him, of the boy he used to be, still has the power to break her apart. Hermione Granger never could escape Harry Potter.





	with a heart full of mess and lore (we are doomed but we wanted more)

She doesn't know what time of day it is anymore. Can't count the minutes, seconds, hours ( _milliseconds_ , even), days, months, _years_. Time ceases to exist for her now.

 

All she knows is that she has to keep running and _never stop_.

 

 

It wasn't always like this. Before (What a strange concept; she doesn't believe that there once was a Hermione who used to care about nothing except books and doing well in school. She seems like a stranger.) she'd been happy. She had her books and her boys, the best friends she could ever ask for.

(She tries not to wince at this thought. How quickly things changed.)

 

She'd felt _alive_.

 

(Now she feels dead.)

 

Looking back, she can't believe how obvious, how severe the signs had been. She must've been _blind_ not to see them.

 

(In a way she was.)

 

 

Ron hadn't seen the signs either.

 

(Maybe that was why he had been _his_ first victim.)

 

Her breath catches at that thought and she ( _almost_ ) forgets how to get it back.

 

( _inhale_ , _exhale_ )

 

It's too late for regrets now –

 

Too late to ponder the endless what ifs and what should have beens.

 

She keeps running.

 

 

Thinking of him, of the boy he used to be, still has the power to break her apart.

 

(She tries not to remember the tears, the screams, the quiet sound of her heart shattering to pieces.)

 

She doesn't know even now where it all went wrong. Horribly wrong. Can't even begin to guess the _what_ and _when_ , let alone the _why_ and _how_.

 

It doesn't matter anyhow. The end result is always the same.

 

Harry – _her_ Harry – is dead.

 

 

Her favorite thing about him, above all else, was his smile. It was her weakness – always had been.

 

(Of course there were other things about him that she loved, but nothing compared to his smile.)

 

It was one of those rare and gorgeous sights that she would have given anything to witness again and again, and never get enough of it. She was willing to hurt, to endure anything to be in the presence of his smile.

 

Words alone could never describe the beauty of it – it was brilliant, so brilliant that it hurt her eyes to see it.

 

Just _watching_ it form made her give him a matching smile and she felt giddy because it was too much, _too much_.

 

(The slow way it took over his face and made his eyes brighter and more beautiful was enough to make her forget everything. Nothing else existed, except that grin.)

 

It was such a simple thing to admire, really, but that was precisely why she loved it.

 

The fact that his smile was rare made it even more breathtaking.

 

 

Soon the beauty of his smile became broken. It turned into a smirk, gradually curling at the edges. Something cold and feral started to shine in his eyes.

 

(They never sparkled with joy, with _life_.)

 

She began to hate his smile.

 

 

Every day she wonders why things ended up this way.

Why he changed. Why the evil planted in him was enough to kill him and turn him into someone she no longer recognized.

 

(She asks questions that will never get an answer.)

 

Most of all, she wonders why she had to lose him.

 

(If there ever was a God, He died then.)

 

 

She finds herself a small hotel to stay in for the night. She locks the door and leaves the lights off. The only radiance she allows inside shines through the closed curtains.

 

It is futile, locking herself in like this, caught in a trap (a _prison_ ) of her own making, since _he'll_ find her in the end.

 

He always does.

 

 

After she changes into a nightgown, she sets herself down on the bed, her legs still wobbly and weak. Her suitcase is down on the floor by her feet. She stares out into nothingness and is dimly aware that she's shaking still.

 

She fears him now.

 

(How ironic is that.)

 

 

Her breath slowly deepens and she clasps her hands together in an attempt to calm herself.

 

There's no point in running further, she realizes. She can't escape him. Never could.

 

(He is like gravity, pulling her down to earth.)

 

She surrenders.

 

 

She can't sleep now. Losing your best friends ( _one murdered_ , _the other lost to himself_ ) and trying to flee from the clutches of a power hungry wizard will do that to a person.

 

She decides to count sheep.

 

( _not the number of heartbeats until he finds her_ )

 

Anything to keep her mind off _him_.

 

Right when she counts the 100th imaginary sheep, she hears the sound of a door slowly opening.

 

She stops breathing.

 

 

There he is, in all his sinisterly majestic glory.

 

"How did I know that I would find you here." A wry chuckle. "You're good, Hermione. Very good. I expected nothing less from you."

 

She tries to remember how to breathe.

 

"I hate to say this…but I have to be honest with you. I've grown tired of your games, sweetheart. Playing cat and mouse is fun only the first time around." His voice, smooth as silk and cold as ice, washes over her. He's right behind her now, she knows.

 

Leaning over, he whispers in her ear, "You can't run away this time, Hermione. Never again." His breath is hot and she suppresses the urge to shiver.

 

She swallows hard and barely flinches when he turns her around to face him, making sure to keep her eyes averted.

 

"Aw." He tsks. "Don't tell me you're frightened of little ol' _me_. I should be the one who's scared, honestly."

 

She says nothing.

 

"Giving me the silent treatment, aren't you?" There is an amused lilt in his voice. "Fine then. No matter. I always liked you better when you were silent. You never did know when to stop running that mouth of yours."

 

She has to bite her lip to keep herself from cursing him. She can imagine the smirk – _the ever present smirk_ – he's giving her at that moment.

 

(This is how it all goes wrong – when the people you love, who you would give everything of yourself to, who you would _die_ for, become the people you hate with all your heart and wish they'd killed you instead.

 

Loving them is your worst sin.)

 

"Still not speaking, eh? Am I that much of an abomination to you?" He speaks lightly, but she can sense the anger underneath his words.

 

"No." She claps a hand to her mouth before it can betray her further.

 

He scoffs. "That's the problem with you, Hermione. You always saw the good in everyone. Even me." He laughs bitterly. "Don't you know that there's no good in me left?"

 

"There is still." She says this quietly, hoping that he'll hear her.

 

" _Don't say that_ ," he whispers between gritted teeth. His eyes are blazing with fury.

 

She ignores him and presses on, taking full advantage of the fact that she has the upper hand here. "You _are_. If you weren't, you would have killed me a long time ago…if not now." Her voice doesn't waver on the last word. Some of the fear has gone away, she realizes hazily.

 

He smiles hollowly at this. "Why would I kill the one person who's saved my sorry arse countless times?" Then his smile disappears and an icy, sardonic one takes its place.

 

"That doesn't mean I'm still good. Not even a little. You can't save me this time, Hermione."

 

"What about Ron then? He could have saved you. He still saw the light in you."

 

( _even when everyone else stopped_ )

 

She hopes that cutting remark breaks him so much he's incapable of feeling whole again.

 

Instead, to her horror, he starts laughing.

 

"Ron? That fool? He saw good in me?" He gives her a mocking smile.

 

"Yes. That Ron. _Your best mate_." She narrows her eyes at him.

 

This statement doesn't faze him one bit.

 

"Which is precisely why he was a fool. If he hadn't been my best mate, he would have realized what everyone was too blind to see. He would've known where my true loyalty lay, what my real destiny was, who I was really meant to be."

 

He chuckles darkly. "He never did. Even at the end, he kept on insisting that I could redeem myself, that I was still a good man inside. He believed that I was playing the hero again. Oh, how I loved listening to his screams."

 

_Don't think about it_ , she clenches her eyes shut. _Don't think_ –

 

(But it's too late –

 

She can hear Ron's cries echoing in the air, in her and all around her – _please please please stop stop stop I know you exist still under that stupid mask you can stop acting like the hero_ –

 

She can practically _taste_ the sourness and electricity of the Cruciatus, _feel_ the final, green glow of Avada Kedavra –)

 

Bile rises in her throat, threatening to choke her. "You are a monster." She bites out.

 

She's surprised by the dazzling smile ( _that smile_ ) he throws her way. " _Finally_ you're getting it. Although I much prefer the title 'the most powerful wizard in the world,' I suppose 'monster' will have to do for now."

 

"You're _not_ the most powerful wizard in the world – Dumbledore is," she counters.

 

His sharp bark of laughter startles her; it's taunting and holds a hint of malice. " _Dumbledore_ , that old codger?" His voice is low. "Do you really believe that he's as great as he makes himself out to be?"

 

"Yes." She lets that one syllable speak for itself.

 

He shakes his head mournfully. "Ah, Hermione – I was afraid you would say that. I thought you knew better. Even after all he's done to _me_ , to everyone – you still sing his praises."

 

She meets his gaze. "Yes, he made some incredibly stupid mistakes that cost him…that cost _you_ everything. But he ultimately used his power and his influence to help people, to make life better for them. And you –" She looks away. "You use your power to destroy life."

 

"Some things have to be sacrificed for the greater good," he says simply. "Wasn't that what he always preached? And in this case, to be the greatest wizard in the universe, you learn to live without everything, everyone you love. I had to let go of everything I was, of the person I used to be, so that I could be someone better."

" _This_ is better, the person you are now? You killing your best friends, everyone you used to –" She presses her lips together. "What happened to you, Harry?" She finally says, the words coming out rough, strangled. "If _this_ is the person you were meant to be, if _this_ was your true destiny…I can't see how much of an improvement it is over the man you were before – who was my best friend, my second chance, _everything_ to me." She's glad to see him flinch at this.

 

"That man is dead, Hermione," he says flatly. "You know he's not coming back."

 

"I wish he was. I can't love you now." She chances a glimpse at him and almost regrets her words.

 

He huffs out a laugh. "So this is what it all comes down to." He sounds defeated. "Black and white. Good and bad. Love and hate. You say there's still some good in me…and then the next minute you tell me that you can't love me, the man I am now."

 

He looks at her with quiet eyes. "This is my fate, Hermione. The power always called out to me until I couldn't ignore it any longer." And he allows a small smile to adorn his mouth. "You knew it from the minute I cast _Sectumsempra_ on Malfoy."

 

She can't deny that. "You didn't show any remorse," she answers, her eyes blurring. "You never did."

 

"If this is what you were really meant for, Harry…I can't be a part of it." She looks at him. "I won't kill you, but I will do everything I can to make sure you don't succeed."

 

He grins faintly. "I knew you would say that."

 

She curses silently. Even when he's changed, when he's no longer _her_ Harry – he still reads her so easily like no one else.

 

"You say your fate is to take over the world," she continues, not looking at him now. "You know what mine is?"

 

"I can guess, but I don't want to ruin the surprise," he replies wryly.

 

She allows herself a tiny, sad smile. "My fate is that I'll always love you."

 

He inhales sharply. This is her goodbye to him, he knows. "Hermione –"

 

"Don't, Harry." Her voice is weary, worn at the edges. "Just don't."

 

(He's breaking and no one can fix him – not even her. Not anymore.)

 

He barely manages to nod and lets himself drink her in ( _her bright eyes_ , _bushy hair_ , _unmatchable bravery_ ), knowing that this is the last time he will ever see her.

 

(There is no _again_ in this fractured fairytale.)

 

"Okay," he says hoarsely. "I suppose I'll have to show you then since you refuse to listen to me." She laughs brokenly at this.

 

He takes her hand in his and traces letters on it with his finger. She trembles slightly, realizing the unspoken words he's telling her.

 

( _i love you_ )

 

"And I'll never stop." He lets go of her hand and steps back. She draws in a shaky breath but doesn't look at him.

 

(If she does, she'll beg him to stay. Tell him that she'll be there by his side always, and she'll never leave.)

 

He turns away and goes, letting the door close with a soft _click_ behind him.

 

(And she finds herself alone, wishing that their story had a different ending.)

 

She doesn't cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where to begin. This fic owes its existence (and I my eternal gratitude and love) to a countless number of people. 
> 
> Firstly - I would like to thank **Carla** for inspiring me to write this. I wrote the part about Harry's smile just for you. It's my (rather pathetic) way of saying 'gracias' for being a fantabulous friend and inspiration to me. 
> 
> Secondly - if it hadn't been for **Lins** and **Pri's** awesome betaing skills, fantastic feedback and overwhelming support, this fic would never have seen the light of day. 'Thank you' doesn't even begin to cover how grateful I am to you both. You have my heart always, chicas. 
> 
> Thirdly - although I didn't write the idea she gave me for this fic, **Lix** deserves a million thanks because I wouldn't have written anything for the big bang in the first place if she hadn't encouraged (and nudged) me. Muchas gracias, hon. 
> 
> And last, but definitely not least - I know this is sappy, and maybe predictable, but I really don't care - I would like to thank the organizers and participants of the Hermione Big Bang for being their awesome selves and making this fic fest happen in the first place. I can honestly imagine no better way to celebrate my homegirl's (dare I say momentous?) birthday than brilliant fic and beautiful artwork. And I'm thankful to be a (small) part of it. 
> 
> The title comes from A Fine Frenzy's gorgeous song "Blow Away."


End file.
